


Ghosts of You

by Vanya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Post-Reichenbach, Short Story, Tragedy, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya/pseuds/Vanya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot: John is plagued nightly by nightmares of the Reichenbach fall, he gives in to those nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Thrash, thrash_

Sherlock.

I see him there. Up on top of St. Bart’s. And all I can do is stare and listen. Listen to him as he speaks to me in a broken voice. Telling me that he speaks words of truth that I know for a fact are lies.

**No one could be that clever.**

**_You could._ **

His laugh. Oh god. It’s so filled with pain. So forced. I can’t see his face from where I am, but I know he’s crying. I know he is. I know what he’s thinking about doing an I can feel my heart ready to break any second he says the words that I’m dreading.

_Please Sherlock._

_Don’t say it._

**_Why are you saying this?_ **

**This is phone call, it’s my note. That’s what people do when--…**

Why did he stop? I know the answer, I don’t know why the words came out of my mouth but they did. They asked the question with my heart already knowing the answer.

**_When what?_ **

Then he said it.

Those words I never wanted to hear. The words I’ll never hear again.

**Goodbye John.**

I can hear the phone clatter to the ground with a thud before cutting out. I could see him throw it.

**_Sher…_ **

**_Sherlock!_ **

And there he goes.

One step of that building and he’s falling.

Falling to the ground.

_No._

_No._

“No, Sherlock!” John screamed as he bolted up in the bed. His chest was tight, so tight that he could hardly get a breath. His face was hot and wet.  Wet from tears that didn’t want to stop rolling down his face.

Every night he relives it.

It’s always the same.

He always wakes up screaming for him.

His hand moved and covered over his face as he sobbed. “S-Sherlock…” He muttered softly as he plopped back against his pillow trying to breath, only able to get small gasps of air. “Sherlock… Why? Why did you jump? Why did you leave me all alone again? What the bloody fuck am I gonna do?” John spoke aloud to himself, staring at the ceiling and hoping wherever Sherlock was he could hear him. “It hurts so bad…seeing it every night Sher. Every night it’s the same. Nothing helps. Nothing makes the pain stop.” Both hands covered his eyes now as he inhaled sharply and let out a pained noise as he cried. “Why did you do this to me?!”

_Why did you do this to me?_

_I loved you._

_You were everything to me._

_So tell me._

_God, please…_

_Just tell me._

_Give me a reason._

_Just tell me why?_

“I can’t do this Sherlock… I can’t do it anymore. I’m not strong enough.” He took a deep breath and sat up, pulling himself out of his bed and padding down the stairs to the flat.  Mrs. Hudson knew enough to stay away on nights like these. He hoped she would as well tonight, because enough was enough.

_I can’t do it anymore._

Opening the drawer on the desk he pulled out his pistol and looked it over. Making sure it wouldn’t jam and that it was loaded. He took a deep breath and moved to the window that Sherlock use to always stand by. His free hand moved up and touched the glass. “I’m so sorry for giving up. I know you’ll be angry with me, but I can’t be here without you. If you won’t come back, then I’ll come to you.” John took his hand away from the window and pressed the cold barrel to his head. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

_I’m coming._

His finger squeezed a little on the trigger, but stopped when a warm arm wrapped around his waist, while another hand pressed the gun away from his head. Warm breath blew against his ear as a pair of lips whispered to him.

“Don’t go, John. I’m here.”


	2. Chapter II

“You’re not really here Sherlock. I know you aren’t. I’m just hallucinating. That’s it. I’ve been off my rocker for the last two bloody years. I see you when I know you’re dead. I hear you when you aren’t here. I dream about you. Dream about the day you jumped off that fucking building.” John voice cracked as he tried almost desperately to keep himself together, even though he was broken.

Shattered into a million pieces.

John didn’t think there was any way to fix him.

Not really.

The arm around his stomach pulled him tighter, and the other hand gripped his wrist that was holding the gun. Pushing it down slowly. So it was away from his head.

“Just hold on, a little bit longer John. Just a little while more. You can do this. You’re the strongest person I know. I know you can do it.” The voice was warm, baritone. It sounded like him. But John knew.

_It can’t be him._

_He’s dead._

_We buried him._

_He’s dead._

“John, please. Don’t leave when I’m coming back soon. Just a little longer.” John moved in his arms, wanting to turn around to look at him. To see him there. To know he was actually the one holding him, but the arms tightened. “Sherlock…please…” His voice was a whimper.

Full of pain, loneliness and sorrow.

_Please._

_Sherlock._

“Just this once, let me see your face. Just this once.” He felt the other’s head shake and a soft kiss press against the back of his neck. It was so warm.

_Warm._

John started to crumble in his arms, the gun tumbling to the floor with a thump. Slowly both moved to the floor, both arms wrapping tightly around his waist to hold him against the other’s chest. John’s shaky hands covered his face as he started to stop and beg. “Please Sherlock. Please, please, please, let me see you. Let me see you! Just this bloody once! Just this once… please… let me se---…” John crumbled more actually laying on the floor against the other’s legs.

“Shh… John. Soon I promise…”

There were those words again. Why did they sound so reassuring? The blond didn’t understand. It was all riddles to him. Right now he was too upset to try and figure the riddles out. “I… can’t… do this, Sherlock. I can’t. I can’t. Please. Why do you do this to me? Haunt my dreams, haunt me when I’m awake. I’m going crazy. I am crazy.” He muttered, closing his eyes tightly as he felt a hand move to touch his hair. It made him shudder a little as he tried to take a breath. “Sherlock, just let me kill myself. Why won’t you let me kill myself? I’d be happier dead.”

“Shut up John.”

The words were sharp. Really sharp. They felt like a knife almost but they did almost sound a little strained. Like he was on the verge of crying. “Don’t give up on me. John, sunrise is just around the corner. It’s ready to peek through those storm clouds any moment now. Any moment. Just hold on a little longer. You’re going to get you’re miracle. I promise.” John felt lips against his head again. The blond moved a shaking hand to press against the other’s head. He could feel the soft shaggy hair under his calloused finger tips. “Do something for me Sherlock. Just this once, I’ll put the gun away and try to sleep.” He heard him sigh and then felt a nod as Sherlock pressed his nose into his hair. “You still can’t see me, but I’ll do whatever else you want. What is it?” He asked in a soft voice as lips danced over his short hair. “Lay with me in your bed until I’m sleeping. Just for a little while, please?”

_Quiet._

John could have sworn the other would have vanished, if he didn’t still feel the soft warm breath against his hair. But he was quiet for a long time. Like he had to think about if it was really okay for him to do something like that.

“Sherlock? You don’t have to if you don’t wan--…”

“It’s not that John. It’s not that I don’t want to… I just have to make sure you’re safe.” He almost whispered it as he pulled John a little closer.

_I have to make sure you’re safe._

“I’ll be safe if you lay with me.” He said softly and felt a nod. “Alright… give me the gun. I promise I’ll be back soon. Don’t let the nightmares win.” John nodded and reached for the gun, putting it into the extended hand. He heard the clattering as Sherlock placed it on the desk, then gently hands lifted him from the ground, staying behind him. John let Sherlock lay him down facing the opposite wall. He felt the bed shift under the weight of the other man crawling next to him.

_Is he really here? Or is it all in my head?_

Arm wrapped around his waist tightly, a soft kiss to the back of his neck. Whispered words in his ear. Things that made him want to cry, but ended up putting his mind to ease. Enough so that John was able to sleep without having the dream again.

In the morning he was alone.

Alone on Sherlock’s bed.

He moved to sit up and sighed a little, pushing his hands over his hair. To say he had a rough night was an understatement. Staying up he moved to pad out of the room. He had to put his gun away before Mrs. Hudson found it, otherwise she’d call Harry.

_Don’t want to be committed._

He sighed a little and walked into the living room, looking for it on the floor only to see it on the desk. Moving his hand he grabbed it and lifted it up, opening on of the drawers to place it away. Something caught his eyes, a bright piece of paper.  Gently John placed the gun in the drawer and picked up the paper, looking it over.  

_Don’t give up John. Don’t let the nightmares win._

_Soon._

_Trust me._

_-SH_

John sunk to the floor, gripping the paper.  He started to cry again.

“S-Sherlock…”


	3. Chapter III

_Waiting._

Being told to “just wait” is probably the most horrible thing ever.

Especially when you’re waiting for that one thing that can totally change your life.

It makes it that much harder to try and be patient.

_Twang!_

John sighed as he plucked at the violin string. He had no idea how to play it. But being able to feel of the wood under his fingers and pluck at the strings. He could remember all the times he sat there and watched him play. Listened to it. How many times when he woke up in the middle of the night and laid on the couch from a nightmare, that if Sherlock was awake he would play for him. That was probably one of the things he missed the most. He knew the soft lullaby by tune. The first year he use to hum it to himself to help him sleep. But it didn’t work anymore. It was starting to slowly get lost.

_Damn it._

He huffed and pulled himself up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

_Coffee._

_Coffee at five am after a night of not sleeping._

_Again._

He was supposed to work today. Long day too. Seven to seven at the hospital. Most of those hours sitting in the clinic waiting for patients. This was the… third night.

_Is it the third already?_

John shook his head to try and clear it as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He knew this was bad for him. Going days without sleep, only surviving on coffee. Barely eating.

“Oh Christ. I’ve turned into you.”

The blond couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. He always use to get on Sherlock for not eating or sleeping enough. Not that he ever listened. But he still always did it. Now look at him. He frowned a little and rubbed his head before taking a long drink of his coffee. “Maybe I should stay home today.” He thought aloud to himself as he looked down at his mug, barely able to see his reflection in the liquid. “Hmm.” He placed down the cup and wandered to the bathroom. He looked over in the bottles in the cabinet.

_When did I start taking so much medication?_

He pulled four of the bottles from it and looked over the labels.

_Take for pain._

_Take for anxiety._

_Take for depression._

_Take for sleeping._

He sighed a little and pulled one pill from each bottle, before moving back to the kitchen after putting the bottles back. He grabbed his coffee and tossed the pills into his mouth before gulping down his coffee.

_I’m staying home._

_No good when I haven’t slept in three days._

Looking around the blond found his phone and called in, using one of his sick days. They allowed it. Work had been rather easy going with him for the last year and a half because of everything that was happening. He put the phone down on the table and sighed. He tilted his head and lightly lifted his sleeve to look over the long scar on his wrist. Ever since that happened. That’s when he got all the pills, besides the pain ones. He moved his hand and lightly ran two calloused fingers over the scar. He sighed a little. Right after that he started to see Sherlock more. Like the other night where he had stopped him from shooting himself.

_Are you really real?_

_Do you feel guilty because I can’t cope?_

_Because you’re the reason I can’t cope?_

_I miss you so god damned much._

_Hurry up and come back idiot._

_I…_

_I don’t know how much longer I’ll last._

John moved away from the table and went to the couch. Turning to face the cushions, he let out a breath and yawned. With these pills he had to relax before they would actually work. The blond didn’t like having to take them, but they did help every now and again. Slowly his eyes lids fell over his blue eyes, and just like that he was sleeping.

~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~  ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~  ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~

_Pad, pad, pad._

The soft noise of shoes over the wooden floor as Sherlock entered the flat. He slipped them off and held both in his hands as he poked his head in. Mycroft would kill him if he knew he was here again during the day to check on the doctor. But he couldn’t get in for the last three nights because John wasn’t sleeping. But finally he had given in and taken his medication.

_Silly man._

The brunette sighed and moved over to where John was, gently touching his light hair and kissing his head. “John.” He whispered his name and kissed his temple again. “Sleep well. Don’t exhaust yourself.” He said in a soft voice as he pulled away and took off his coat, gently draping it over him. Sherlock scribbled on a piece of paper, leaving him a note. He could only be here for a few minutes before he had to get in the car and leave again. Stopping at the door the brunette looked at John, thinking for a long moment whether he wanted to do what he was thinking about doing.

_I want to… but at the same time…_

_Oh bugger it, he’s sleeping._

Moving back over to the blond Sherlock gently took his chin and kissed his lips, brushing hand over his cheek. “I love you. Behave.”

_Heh, me telling John to behave?_

_Our world really has been turned upside down._

He stood straight up and slipped on his shoes, lifting his hood, shutting the door softly behind him as he went to the car. He was glad John was the only one in at the moment. Mrs. Hudson would have known it was him. Couldn’t have that. Not yet. Sherlock climbed into the back of the black car and stared at the building.

_Just a little longer._

~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~  ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~  ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~

John stirred a little on the couch, pulling the coat close to his face and inhaling the scent of smoke.

_Smoke?_

_Why did the blanket small like smoke?_

Opening his eyes the blond gasped and sat straight up staring at the jacket in his shaking hands. “How…?” He moved his hand down and picked up the piece of paper that was laying on the coat.

_John,_

_I left you my coat. I know you haven’t been sleeping. Please do try to behave. Friday at 3:30 come to my grave._

_See you soon._

_-SH_

Blue eyes stared at the paper, watering a little as he gripped the coat and pressed it to his nose to breath in the scent, even if it smelt like smoke. It smelt like Sherlock.

“I’ll be there.”

_I’ll be there._


	4. Chapter IV

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

Leaves under my feet are so noisy.

Who knew such a thing, that was usually so soundless, could be so noisy.

John just sighed as he used his cane to limp towards the ebony stone. He came here a lot. Even though Harry told him that he really shouldn’t. But he couldn’t get over this. Sherlock was alive. He knew he was. The notes, his voice and most recently his coat.

He was alive.

And he was coming back.

He was.

He told him so.

John stopped when he saw the lonely grave. Even in death he’s all alone. Why is that? Why was it no matter what Sherlock couldn’t have anyone with him? He sighed and walked over to the grave and looked around. No one around yet. Didn’t even look like anyone had visited in a while. There weren’t any flowers, except the one’s John had left himself last time. The blond looked around, hobbling away from the grave to look around the trees to see if he could find him, but he wasn’t there yet. So, instead of trying to stand and wait for him, he lowered himself to the ground with a soft groan. Laying his cane across his  lap as blue eyes wandered up to the stone. He didn’t know how many times he had come here and done this same thing. Sat and traced over the carved letters while talking to himself. Letting Sherlock know just how much he missed him.

This time was different.

He was silent until he heard footfalls coming up behind him. For some reason he didn’t move or say anything though. He didn’t want to assume, and he didn’t want to be mistaken. But when warm arms wrapped around his waist, just like the other night he smiled and reached up to touch the curly hair.

“Sherlock.”

He could feel a smile come to the other’s lips as they pressed against the back of his neck. “John, I’m so happy you came.” John nodded and leaned against his chest as his calloused fingers played with the soft locks. “Of course I came. Why couldn’t I? I come here a lot actually.”

“You come here too much John.”

His voice was a little cold. It cut at John and made his hand drop from the dark hair back to his cane that he was holding in his lap. “I know that Sherlock. But I don’t have to come here anymore right? Because you’re coming back?”

_Silence._

He hated silence like this. When he was waiting for a really important answer but couldn’t get anything out of him. “Right Sherlock?”

_Say something, damn it!_

“No, John. Dead is dead. Dead is gone. There is no coming back.” John felt like his heart stopped for a moment. Every word he had been told was a lie. Every note that told him soon. Every single one. Was a lie. “What…? I don’t understand…” He muttered pulling himself away from the brunette, turning to look at him. He recoiled a little and slammed into the stone as he stared at the man. It was Sherlock, but Sherlock from the day of the fall. There was blood all over his face still, in his hair…

Which meant…

John looked down and gasped at the blood on his hands. “No, no, no, no! This is not… happening Sherlock. It’s not I… I don’t understand.” He felt like he was going to break. Right there. He felt like he was just going to shatter into a million pieces and never be one again. “You imagined all those things John. My coat, the notes. None of it was real. This isn’t even real.” The blond shook his head and looked at him as his eyes started to burn from tears. “You’re lying! Why are you lying to me?! I held your coat in my hands, smelt it! Felt you hold me… you’re saying it’s all in my bloody head?!” He screamed and swatted the hand away as it started to each for him. The brunette pulled his hand back as he watched John grip his head and try hard to get his facts straight. “John, I need you to wake up.”

“Wake… I’m dreaming again…?” He asked as he looked up at Sherlock again. The blood was gone now and he was just normal Sherlock. Pale hands reached out and gripped his shoulder’s pulling him into an embrace.

“Wake up for me John. Wake up.”

“Sherlock… I don’t understand…” He closed his eye and wrapped his arms around his friend. His voice seemed to fade out and then back in.

~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~  ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~  ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~

“John! John, wake up! John!”

Blue eyes fluttered open and he gasped softly as he saw Sherlock there.

“S-Sherlock… are you real?” He asked softly pressing his hand to his cheek to feel of the warmth. The brunette smiled and took hold of his friend, pulling him close and softly pressing his lips against his. John relished in the feeling. He had wanted that kiss more than anything in his whole life. His arms wrapped around the detective neck and he tackled him into the ground, hugging him hard.

_He’s back._

_Really back._

“John, are you alright?”

He nodded to him and pulled back to kiss him again. “I am now Sherlock…” He said looking down at him. “One last nightmare tried to get me. But it didn’t, and you know why?” He asked as Sherlock shook his head. John smiled and kissed him again.

“Because I always believed in Sherlock Holmes.”


End file.
